


A Venture Most Profitable

by Calico



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:59:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calico/pseuds/Calico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He could be inside actually having some fun, Draco thought dryly. And instead, where was he? Waiting, with the most ludicrous of plans, probably in vain, to try his luck with Harry Potter.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Venture Most Profitable

Draco had a feeling that he had a long, cold night ahead.

The chill bit into his fingers as he sprayed a delicate puff of firewhisky onto the threadbare collar of his dress robes. He'd stored the firewhisky in one of his mother's discarded perfume atomisers, a cracked porcelain monstrosity whose only redeeming feature was its tiny pocketable size. He aimed a second puff into his mouth, and smacked his lips in distaste. The things he did for Blaise, honestly.

He pocketed the atomiser again and ruffled his hair, then set to lurking on one of the carved wooden benches donated by the Ministry during the castle-wide renovations following The Battle of Hogwarts and its fallout. That was months ago, and the benches were beginning to stain with winter damp. All sorts of jolly music were sparkling in the crisp night air; it was the Christmas Ball, the first party to be held in the Great Hall since everything happened, and inside the pupils and teachers alike seemed painfully determined to have a good time.

If Draco squinted, he could almost imagine joining them. He could go and get blotto with Blaise, spike people's drinks, wink scandalously at uptight Ravenclaws, and generally enjoy the fact that the whole mess with the Dark Lord was in the past. Curfew had been discarded for two nights only, there was an extra ring of celebration to all the toasts, and, since a disproportionate amount of Hogwarts' pupils were currently over 17, there was an even wider variety than usual of interesting alcohols in circulation.

He could be inside actually having some fun, Draco thought dryly, idly using his thumb nail to scrape some green mould off the screws fixing a shiny brass plaque to the bench. And instead, where was he? Waiting, with the most ludicrous of plans, probably in vain, to try his luck with Harry Potter.

Draco shivered as he waited; with his parents in exile and Gringotts in sulky turmoil, he'd not yet managed to buy a winter robe this year. All his old robes somehow smelled pervasively, if intangibly, of Death Eaters. And the curses lingering on most of the Manor's furniture didn't help; he certainly wasn't opening the laundry chute again any time soon, not after seeing the tentacles down there.

By the time Harry emerged from the party, Draco's hands were like ice. Harry was with Granger, weaving gently down the tree-lined path towards him, complaining softly about excessive female grabbiness whilst Granger laughed into her sleeve.

Draco waited until they were close before leaping up from his bench. "Harry," he said loudly, when they both jumped. He made his eyes imploring. "I wanted to talk to you."

From the look on Granger's face, she'd smelt the firewhisky. Good.

"Malfoy?" Harry said uncertainly, and Draco let disgust fill his voice.

"Not Malfoy," he said, with an artful touch of venom to his name. "Just call me Draco. Unless you want to shame me on purpose, of course."

Granger raised her eyebrows at Harry. "Well, that's probably enough fresh air for me. Do you want to head in?"

There was a pause, and then Harry said, "You go, I'll see you back inside," puzzlement in his voice, and Granger glanced oddly at them both before shrugging and nodding and walking back towards the castle.

Draco promptly took Harry's arm and pulled him further down the path, and Harry went with it for a couple of steps before asking, "Er, Draco? Are you drunk?"

"I may have had a drop," Draco said truthfully, which he could see Harry didn't believe for an instant. He spread his fingers on Harry's arm, feeling the muscle beneath. "I want to talk to you."

Harry looked uncertain, but didn't shake him off. "Is something wrong?"

Draco nodded, and then said softly, "I can't talk about it here," with another nod towards the castle, and drew Harry further down the path, off into the shadows. It was so cold he was fairly sure no one else was out here, but still.

Harry lowered his voice urgently, leaning in. "Draco. What is it? If there's something going on that I should know about--"

Draco paused to let Harry's curiosity build, then shook his head. "There isn't something going on in the sense you mean," he said quietly, turning to face him, closing his hands lightly on Harry's arms just above the elbow, "but there is something wrong. It's wrong that I never - thanked you."

Harry looked stunned. Draco pressed hopefully closer and peered up at him, and carefully measured the angle of his affected drunken leaning to tip Harry gently backwards off the path into the bushes without actually overbalancing either of them.

If he'd genuinely been drunk, he wouldn't have been able to restrain a smile at Harry's hands flying up instinctively to Draco's shoulders and then dropping swiftly again, as if burnt.

"I have to thank you, even though part of me just wants to forget it," Draco said, in a low fervent rush. "You saved me, twice in fact, but more than that you saved the world - you even saved my parents from their own stupidity--"

Harry's pink mouth was open like a particularly surprised fish. Draco had carefully designed that outburst to push each of Harry's buttons in turn - ending on the all-time-favourite Stupid Malfoy button - but having heard himself say it out loud it did sound somewhat melodramatic. He hoped against hope that his proximity would be a sufficient diversion, that it was getting to Harry as much right now, when they weren't fighting, as it used to when they used to come to blows.

Harry looked bewildered, and gratifyingly distracted by Draco plucking at his sleeves. "But," Harry said, finding his voice at last, delightfully ragged, "why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"Well," Draco said slowly, and stilled his hands, letting them fold carelessly closed on Harry's arms, "I suppose because I hadn't worked out _how_ to thank you," and he leaned in a little more, and Harry flexed slightly but _didn't_ jump back, and suddenly Draco felt gloriously in control.

Harry said faintly, "_How_ to...?"

"Mm," Draco nodded, checking deliberately over his shoulder and then giving Harry a slanted smile, "I wanted to give you a gift to show my gratitude, I'm quite traditional like that, but you have so much already - fame, wealth, magic items - I mean, what does one get the Boy Who Lived who has everything?"

He leaned in, moving his mouth close to Harry's ear, and added, in an undertone, "And then I had an idea, something no man can get enough of... but I might have got it wrong, I needed to work up my courage..."

"What was your idea?" Harry asked, swallowing audibly, and Draco smiled to himself before drawing back and giving Harry a full blast of the half-lidded, wet-mouthed gaze he'd practised in front of his cracked mirror for this very occasion.

"I thought one way to thank you," he said, running his fingers down Harry's arms, "would be to help you out," reaching Harry's cuffs and skimming sideways, reaching in with both hands and thank _fuck_, Harry was hard, erection solid down one leg of his trousers, firm against Draco's hands, "with this."

 

* * *

 

"I've had an idea for a tremendous money-making venture," Blaise had told Draco, after they'd spent half an hour feeding the cursed fire in the Malfoy drawing room with damp matches and petrol, "but it requires you to have a great deal of sex with Harry Potter. Do you think you can do that?"

Draco had been trying to arrange his limbs to absorb the most heat possible from the flames, without losing Blaise's arm around him. At least the despicable humiliation of huddling for warmth in his own home had come with that benefit. He had wrinkled his nose. "There are more fun ways I can imagine spending an afternoon."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Blaise had said, his voice turning cajoling. He was ever so tactile when he wanted something from Draco, leading Draco to suspect that Blaise knew what Draco really wanted from him, and wasn't afraid to use that knowledge to his advantage. Blaise's hand had stroked down Draco's side, gathering him in closer, and he'd spoken against Draco's hair. "Money, Draco. Enough to get you out of this mess. I'm offering you a scheme which cannot fail, a venture _most_ profitable, and I asked you if you could achieve it, not if you'd find it fun."

 

* * *

 

"Um," Harry said, and then cleared his throat, "Draco, do you mean--"

Draco leaned in to Harry's ear again and thoroughly enjoyed the words slipping slowly out of his mouth: "I mean I want to give you a blow job, I've wanted to all year, so I'm trying to dress it up as a favour in the hope of honouring my debt to you and simultaneously satisfying my own questionable desires."

He stroked Harry through his dress robes as he spoke, and Harry's breathing got heavier. "Of course, if you'd rather go back to the Ball," Draco murmured, and Harry laughed breathlessly, and Draco added, "but I want to do this for you, and I can feel how hard you are, and you don't have to do anything to me in return..."

"Who said I don't want to do anything to you in return?" Harry said, and Draco froze as his script shattered and his own cock got rather interested in proceedings.

"Well, I just-- assumed--" he said slowly, and then Harry's hands were on his waistband, tugging him close, and Draco felt the shock-warmth of Harry against his whole body and had to bite back a deep, appreciative sound that wasn't in the script either.

"Wanted you," Harry muttered, ducking and kissing Draco's throat, "ages," and he was pushing at Draco's robes and sliding his hands directly into Draco's pants and pulling his cock out, and Draco gasped as he hardened all at once in Harry's warm grasp, and his plan-- Blaise's plan-- went out of his mind.

"Well, good," he said inanely, his whole body suddenly blazing with need for more; he needed more of Harry's skin, wanted to touch it, was desperate for it, and he started working his own hands into Harry's robes, finding the firm warm slant of Harry's stomach and dragging his fingertips down.

"Fuck, Draco, you're freezing," Harry hissed, and tugged at both Draco's wrists, leaving Draco's cock bereft.

Draco said, "Dutch courage, keeps me warm," and dipped his fingers under Harry's waistband again, and Harry interrupted, stuffing his hand into his own pants and rearranging himself, muttering,

"Maybe, but it won't keep _me_ warm," and grabbing Draco's hands and bringing them to his mouth, his eyelashes sweeping down.

Draco stared as Harry slipped two of Draco's fingers into the incredible heat of his mouth, sucking gently and slowly swirling his tongue. The sensation seemed to pour over Draco's entire body, seemed to darken the shadows around them. Harry's pink lips were wet now, and his tongue flickered and played, and he was so _warm_... Draco made a low cut-off noise in his throat and Harry's eyes flicked open again, and he sucked harder and took in a third finger, and the world blurred at the edges of Draco's vision.

He imagined Harry sucking cock, his mouth stretched around, say, _Draco's_ cock, his clever soft tongue working on the head of if it, wet, eager, sucking--

He blinked in startled dismay when Harry drew back, and then sighed with renewed pleasure as Harry started breathing hotly into Draco's palms, massaging him with both hands, steadily rubbing the blood back into his fingers. Draco's fantasy expanded to include those hands, palming his cock, massaging his sac, strong and immeasurably warm, working in counterpart to the velvet wetness of Harry's mouth, finding a rhythm, working him--

"Okay," Harry said, his voice low and husky, "now you may touch me."

An arrow of tingling warmth shot through Draco's stomach. He nodded wordlessly, letting Harry pull his hands down between them, his blood thrumming through his fingers, accentuating every brush of the rich fabric of Harry's robe.

Harry undid his pants and pressed his stiff cock into Draco's fingers, smooth and warm and so hard, and held Draco's hand closed around it, squeezing him tight, beginning to thrust.

"No," Draco said faintly, his mouth watering at the sensation of the plump head of Harry's cock rocking hotly in his palm, "let me," and dropped to his knees.

He tipped his face up, trying to discern Harry's expression in the shadows, and then Harry was stroking his head with one hand and holding out his cock with the other, and something in Draco's stomach flashed hot and tight.

He rested his hands on Harry's thighs, and thought briefly of teasing, but he was on his knees in the middle of winter and it was Harry Potter, least likely connoisseur of gay blowjobs ever, and so he just dived in, taking as much of Harry's cock into his mouth as he could and sucking until he felt it straining against his tongue.

The feel of it filling his mouth made his own cock start to throb in the cold night air.

"Oh, mm," Harry was gasping, and wrapped his hand more firmly around the base of his cock. Draco closed both hands on Harry's hips and licked it all over, moving almost frantically, his tongue sliding over Harry's fingers and then back up to his shiny plump cockhead, getting him thoroughly wet and relishing the little noises that Harry kept failing to hide.

He reached for his own neglected cock and briefly carded his fingers over it, and then realised that it would all be over far too soon if he kept that up, and went back to concentrating on sucking and kissing Harry's cock as if he were trying to impress every inch of it into his memory. He hoped distractedly that there was enough light for Harry to see what he was doing, and then thought that if Harry had his eyes open, maybe he wasn't doing this well enough.

Harry moved one hand into Draco's hair and started rocking his hips, and Draco swallowed hard and backed off, sliding his tongue in quick wet criss-crossing circles around the head until Harry was growling softly under his breath and making an increasingly firm fist in Draco's hair.

Come on, Draco thought tightly, because if Harry wanted to fuck him hard then that would be all of Draco's buttons pushed right there. He wrapped his own hand around Harry's and gently nudged it, until Harry got the idea and started moving it on his own, giving Draco a rhythm to work to and getting his own fingers thoroughly slick in the process; and then he moved his hand back around Harry's smooth, round arse, running his wet fingertips into the cleft of it, feeling Harry shiver and thrust harder in response.

_Yes, fuck me_, Draco thought wildly, and he twisted his slick finger slowly into Harry's body and Harry went wild, shoving into Draco's mouth and cursing and starting to come, and Draco thought, no, fuck _him_, and then he was swallowing, his mouth filling with salty slickness, and he pushed his finger a little deeper into Harry's tight, hot arse and felt him jerk with it and start to sway.

"Fuck, fuck," Harry was muttering, twisting his fist tight in Draco's hair as Draco swallowed again and eased his finger regretfully out, and then Harry slid both hands to Draco's lapels and unsteadily tugged him to his feet, and for a moment Draco thought he was going to be kissed.

He wasn't kissed. He was stared at for a short moment, and then Harry fell to his own knees and took Draco's cock straight into his mouth, sucking him soft and wet and breathless.

"Oh," Draco whispered, because this was absolutely not in the script, and his knees were numb from the cold ground and his mouth tasted rosy and raw. He tried to catch his breath and then gave up and just panted, leaning into the heat of Harry's mouth, Harry's hands, Harry's tongue sliding over his cock in hasty tumbling spirals of pure sensation.

He reached out to steady himself and wound up with one hand loosely pressed against Harry's hair, the other tangled up with Harry's fingers, holding his hand, squeezing tight as Harry started to suck in earnest, filling Draco slowly with heat and stars until his entire body was pulsing in time with the hollowing of Harry's cheeks.

Draco stared down, mesmerised, almost unable to believe this was real, and then Harry glanced up at him wickedly and slid his hand up the inside of Draco's thigh, up, up, until Draco was shaking with anticipation.

Harry hummed teasingly, and then his blunt finger was pressing at Draco's hole and bolts of sensation ricocheted through Draco's body. It struck Draco that perhaps Harry wasn't the _least_ likely connoisseur of gay blowjobs ever, as Harry's fingertip pressed mischievously into him for a few blinding seconds and then withdrew once more.

"Fuck," Draco muttered, moving helplessly against the increasingly rhythmic slides of Harry's tongue, and Harry grinned up at him and lined his fingers up again.

_Two_ fingers, Draco thought, as Harry's two fingertips nudged slowly inside him, and he tipped his head back and tried not to groan as Harry pushed them in. He thought he'd got himself in control, and then Harry started to fuck him with his fingers, slow but deep, as if he knew exactly what he wanted to do to him next, and Draco crested hard and let go, because the merest thought that, of Harry even _considering_ fucking him, yes, fucking him, Harry fucking him like _this_\--

He came in a blaze of heat, burying himself in Harry's wonderful hot wet mouth as Harry shoved his fingers up inside him, squeezing Harry's hand hard enough to bruise and shouting hoarsely into the freezing night air.

 

* * *

 

It was an exhausting spell, but one which Blaise assured him ought to get easier with practice. He sank back into his armchair afterwards, closing his eyes and getting his breath back whilst Blaise took care of the more tedious detail.

"I have to say, you've surpassed even my expectations," Blaise said silkily, holding a whisper-fine glass bottle up to the light and examining the swirling substance within. "Brilliant. Truly brilliant. I barely needed to make any adjustments. Who'd have thought Potter would be such an animal?"

"Not me," Draco admitted, and arranged his new winter robe more snugly around himself. Blaise had given him a healthy advance on his proceeds. He was wearing it even though the drawing room was warming fast, as the fire flickered cosily in its grate; he'd had Blaise paying men to lift curses from the Manor all afternoon.

"Interest has been, as I predicted, rabid," Blaise said, waving an elegant hand at a pile of scrolls. "I think this particular niche in the market is fairly... expansive. And the duplication spell has worked wonderfully," he added, indicating the rows of identical little bottles on the mantel piece, each with a hand-tied golden silk ribbon.

"That's a relief," Draco said. He hadn't relished the thought of mentally copying his memory; details would surely be lost in the process. He himself had been left with only the vaguest account of his time with Potter, having submitted every nuance he could muster to the pensieve.

Blaise's lips moved as he directed the bottles into neat, discreet, brown-papered boxes ready to be distributed to the flock of owls due at dawn. He cut an impossibly handsome figure in the firelight, and it was all Draco could do not to reach out and stroke him.

He blinked as an idea occurred to him. "I say," Draco said distractedly, watching Blaise's efficient wand work even as Blaise glanced curiously at him, "do set one aside for me, won't you? I'll need to know what happened if I'm to do it again."

Blaise flashed him a smile as he finished the spell, then set down his wand and closed the distance between them. "I'm glad you suggested that," he said, dusting his hand over Draco's shoulder. His voice was husky and deliciously tentative. "Now the curses in the master bedroom have been lifted, I rather hoped you might invite me to watch it with you."

Draco shivered. "Consider yourself invited," he said, and gave Blaise his very best thoughtful smile. "At the very least," he added slyly, "I'd like your input on staging the rest of the series."

"It would be my pleasure to help you and your business in any way I can," Blaise assured him softly, and Draco stretched and got to his feet, lazily buoyant with an anticipation that spiked as Blaise clasped his hand and shook it gently. His grip was hot and firm, and didn't loosen straight away.

Draco had a feeling that he had a long, warm night ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> The incomparably cool and patient julad made a ton of really good suggestions on this little thing, but unfortunately I was horribly hungover at the time and didn't put many of them into action. I'm okay with it like this, though - less sophisticated and definitely shorter, but crucially _finished_. Finished means a lot to me these days. *g*


End file.
